


Alone, Or So He Thought

by schlackityhq



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Drinking, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, M/M, Mentioned Fundy, Mentioned Tommyinnit, Mentioned Tubbo, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, good ending, idk how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlackityhq/pseuds/schlackityhq
Summary: He was so upset.Why did Schlatt have to leave?But who was that voice that called to him when he was convinced he was gone?
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

Scared.

He was scared, the feeling hanging over his shoulders and haunting his every thought. He stared at his boss, his _husband,_ on his knees on the floor. He looked around, sweat dripping down the perfectly toned skin. He was drunk, completely wasted in the middle of a raging war. At this point the fighting had taken a halt at the collective sight.

They surround the president, the drug vans air thick with tension. You could cut an axe through the pressure. He sat. He sat and laughed, looking at the sides of the fight that surrounded his being. “This a surprise birthday party?” His words slur, mind fogged with the intoxication. 

His unstained white shirt loosely clung to his built chest, top three buttons undone and a shoulder showing as his shirt drooped. His tie, blood red hung untethered from his neck. His eyes secure their usual glint, slit pupils full of threat. He stumbles to his feet, his grip on the neck of a whiskey bottle never faltering. 

“Schlatt are you- are you drunk?” The british accent doesn’t sit well with the ram. He grins, anger clear in the smile. “Hm? Nah, nah..” He lies to his face, hating how bluntly obvious the insoberity is. His horns glint in the afternoon sun, sweat still glistening on his tan build. Wilbur frowns, his shield never leaving its set place.

He’s so hyperaware of the surroundings. His wings twitch, folded against his back. Fear creeps its way from mind to body, his expression contorting into a look of concern. It mixed with anxiety, making him shake. He just wanted to shut down. He wanted to go back to a month ago, back to when they were _happy._

Schlatt laughs, the grip on the glass now getting tighter. He flings the bottle to a raise, a loud crash of the material resounding off the caravan walls. He wails, the fear striking in his voice. Fundy looks at the dictator in pure terror, ears pinned back as his armour shows the signs of the very exact crash that was just heard.

His shaking never ceases as the sight just worsens. The violent scene splayed out before him, Fundy nearly getting smacked in the face with shattering glass. It’s terrifying. He hadn’t ever seen Schlatt this violent. It was a terrible sight. The clear amusement made him look so sadistic, and hell he was.

Schlatt stumbles, ranting to the people who played numerous weapons to his life. “In my time of need, everyone left!” His voice is laced with angry venom as he shouts. The sun lowers behind him, only settling in for late afternoon as he trembles in his own firing anger. His eyes dart to the gazes, meeting nearly everyone who gathered. But not _him._ He was too scared to look at the drunk man.

Schlatt’s breathing quickens. This is it, he drove his own frustration too far. HIs vision is clouding, a vignette of black starting to circle what he could see anymore. Nothing was clear, blurry faces were around him. He didn’t recognize anyone there anymore. He coughs. He starts choking on his own breath.

“Schlatt?”

No answer is given. He just laughs shallowly, it nearly elicits as a short breath instead. He’s sweating more, the vehicle is so hot. He darts his eyes again, he’s trying to make sense of the blurry faces. “Does anyone smell toast?” He chuckles, breathing short as he tries to keep up with himself. 

His clawed hand grabs his shirt. He clutches the fabric, he stopped. No, Schlatt himself didn’t stop, what the hell happened. He falls to his knees, blood erupting from his throat as the darker than normal liquid stains the floor in a disturbing splatter. He falls to his side, his heart wasn’t able to keep up with the drinking.

He’s terrified. He’s staring in terror. “Did he just have a heart attack?!” Tubbo’s voice is the first to rip the silence. They start laughing, no care for the death they just witnessed. They’re laughing. He hugs himself, why are they laughing? Did they never care about him?

Why didn’t Schlatt talk to someone instead of drinking?

Why did he have to lose someone?

WHY ARE THEY LAUGHING?

He sits up, fast and terrified as his breathing is heavy. 

Quackity looks around, a cold sweat staining his sheets as he grimaces from the way his shirt clings to his build. The room is dark, moonlight glistening through the window pane glass. “Again..?” He mumbles to himself, sighing as he throws the blankets from his bare legs. His wings flutter and twitch, feathers that caught themselves tangled in his rest now loosening up.

The bed sheets were soft, blanket having such a comforting feel. He sighs as he stands from his bed, grabbing his jacket as he slips it on, wings shimmying their way through the holes. His sweatpants follow, preparing for the cold of the night as his small tail pokes through the hole he had in his pants.. He needed fresh air, a 2 am walk would work just fine. He needed a breather too.

A nightmare. A recurring nightmare, one he had relived so many times before. He hates that he can remember that day, tell about it so well. Quackity is shaking lightly, his wings trembling in an action of mimic. The day was always so clear to him. The way his terror felt at seeing the death of his boss. His president. His _husband._ It shook him to his well secured core and constantly haunted him.

He opens the oak door that shut his room off from the outside. He walks out of the house, wings spreading as he stretches. He sighs, he can see his own breath in the cold air. His trek starts towards L’manberg, or at least what remains of it. The craters accompanied by dangerous ledges and cliffs, jagged rocks threatening as the sharp ends poked out in all directions.

He walks by the remains of Party Park, frowning at the sight. His best friend, Karl, had built that for months. The rollercoasters and wool flooring destroyed, llamas easily killed in the death of the country. He wished they could’ve saved that place, Karl was devastated when he saw the park blown up.

Quackity flies over to one of the higher ledges with dread pulling on him. His weight feels so much heavier with the sadness leaning against him. He sits down, gaze hitting the vines that grew at the very bottom of the crater. The egg, he fake gags at the sight. His legs dangle over the edge as his mind begins to wander.

Why was the reality of this land so...fucked? Why did they have to go through countless wars, people neck and neck over every last bit of the server. This was Dream’s land; it hits him like an anvil to the head. Dream had so much control over all of them now. They didn't have their president to keep things straight anymore. “Damnit..” He growls out.

His eyes begin to burn with angry tears, hands gripping rock ledges. His knuckles grow white at the rough grip, tears rolling down tan cheeks. “Why did this happen.” He’s thinking out loud. His anger bubbles up before he’s at the bottom of the crater, taking his anger out on the vines.

He pulls out his axe, an angry cry ripping the silence of the night as he slams the blade into the red plant. He chops at the infestation, frustrated and livid sobs tearing through his lungs. It was so built up inside of him; he was so angry and it had all been bottled up inside of his mind.

He’s shaking again, just like he did on that horrible day. He drops the axe, collapsing to his knees. His shaky hands grip the sleeves of his jacket, the material creasing in vexed grasp. “Why did you l- leave me?!” His voice wraps with resentfulness, sobbing out to his husband that could no longer hear his voice.

“Quackity?”

He froze.

“Quackity, is that you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me basing this interaction and dialogue of the chapter off of the honeylambs video for clarice  
> its actually super cool, link at the end of the fic so u can check it out :]

Quackity looks up, confusion creeping its way to his expression. “H-Huh?” He looks around to see if he can spot anyone. He doesn’t recognize the voice. Who is it? Why does he know his name? It’s definitely a male, but the voice is warped and his tone sounded hurt. He stands, wiping his tears with his sleeve as he yanks his weapon from the infesting plant.

“W.. Who’s there?” The lack of a person is creeping him out. His wings fold against his back, as he swallows the lump that had formed in his throat. He was a little paranoid now. Is he hearing things? He must be, no one is awake. Why was the voice so odd then too? It’s just his dumb imagination.

“Have you come in here to stay with me like I wish you’d always do?” The voice makes him shudder. There’s something so eerily familiar about the voice. He could tell under all the chilling warps. Quackity begins to walk around, trying to find the source of the voice. “Where the hell are you?”

He freezes as he sees the source after a bit of exploring. The man floated there, a small broken red heart sewn into the blue sweater he wore. His legs a dark grey, tapering into a ghosts wispy tail. His brown hair and facial hair not changed. His horns made no change either, just seemed slightly more grown.

Quackity doesn’t move. The blue buttons that replaced the ram’s eyes seemed to creep him out. He swallows his nervousness to speak. “Schlatt I-” He grins, whipping around as he grabs his cheeks, cupping them in his hands. “Oh, Quackity!” He seems all too happy to see the male. It’s...creepy.

“Oh Quackity it's been forever since I’ve seen you!” A small laugh erupts from his throat, as Glatt hugged Quackity. This was so...odd to him. Schlatt had never acted like this to him before. But it felt nice. And he was right; it had been nearly three months since he had died. They hadn’t seen each other in a bit.

Glatt smiled, letting go of him. It was weird to see such a constant, genuine smile on Schlatt’s face. At least, looking mostly similar to his living face anyways. Quackity was lost in thought, not moving until the ghost snapped him back into reality. He shook his head and looked to him, before sighing.

“Is everything okay? Dear, are you okay?” He circles around the winged boy as he speaks, like a shark. He returns back to his floating spot in front of him, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, yeah, just….tired?” He sounds like he’s questioning his own words, he was struggling to speak with his dead husband.

Glatt floats around, before sitting down under a ledge, shielding him from the rain that began to fall. Quackity hissed when he saw his wings getting wet, hurrying over and sheltering under the rock with the ghost. “Will you melt too?” He shakes his head. “My wings just get super heavy when they’re wet.”

He nods, a soft ‘oh’ leaving him. He messes with the sleeves of his light blue sweater, one covering his hand and the other torn at his forearm. His wrist that was exposed from the torn material had bracelets around the thin joint. One black, one yellow. Glatt noticed him observing and decided to explain.

“I got these from my friend! My kind friend, do you know where he is?” He tilts his head. Quackity raises an eyebrow in his slight confusion of the newly innocent words. It was weird to see him so nice and peaceful. “No, I don’t. Who’s your friend?” He smiles. “Ghostbur!” His smile seems so clean and calm.

“We both melt in the rain. I wonder why that is.” He gets the urge to stick his hand out from under the ledge. He does so, yelping when the rain burns his grayed skin. “Schlatt, dude please be careful-” He grabs his wrist to pull his hand back. “Is that my name?” The question stabs Quackity in the chest. 

“Yes…?” Confusion drips at the end of his tone. He didn’t know Schlatt wouldn’t even remember himself; let alone remember Quackity. “My name is Glatt, by the way.” Quackity wiped water from his jacket with a small nod, resting his head in the ghost’s lap. He smiled as he watched the winged boy,

“This is nice, I missed your touch to be honest.” He lets out a soft hum, looking up at the incorporeal being. He smiled and nodded, gently pulling his beanie off. He didn’t protest it, purring as slightly cold hands combed through his raven black hair. It felt really nice. He had rarely gotten moments like this with Schlatt.

They sat under the ledge of the rock for hours. Rain pelted down, small wet splashes sometimes hitting Quackity and wetting the cuffs of his jeans. He ignored the gross feeling of damp clothing, enjoying the cuddles he got from the ghost. He wouldn’t ever forget about this moment.

When the rain finally slowed to a stop, Quackity climbed out from under their small shelter. Glatt was careful as he flew out, to make sure he didn’t get hit by any dripping water that had remained. “It’s late,” Quackity starts, looking at the night sky. “I’m gonna get back home. I need sleep.” 

“I’m gonna come with you.” Glatt smiled, not wanting to leave his husband's side. Quackity couldn’t blame him though, they truly hadn’t seen each other in quite some time. “Okay, you can go back with me then.” He lets out a small laugh as Glatt floated by his side. 

He made the trek through damp grass and watery dirt, mud streaking the soles of his worn down sneakers. He scrapes them against the cobble path when he reaches the house, humming to himself. He tosses his jacket back off, slipping his jeans off as he walked over to his bed.

He flops down and curls into his blankets, shutting his light off. When Glatt laid down with him, he didn’t realize. He was weightless from being a ghost so there wasn’t a bed dip or anything. He squeaked as he then realized when he felt arms around him, before cuddling into the ghosts touch as he fell back asleep.

He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/t0gsvZYNlLQ

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy this is bad


End file.
